


The Salvation

by aliveinvividity



Series: Darus Week (2016) [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop AU, Fluff, M/M, daryl is a mechanic, it all makes sense, maggie ships it, ooc????, paul is a coffee barista, that's up to you to decide tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveinvividity/pseuds/aliveinvividity
Summary: "Why don't you talk to him?" "Because he'd probably tell me to screw off." Paul begins to wipe down the table's dark, metallic chairs. "Doesn't strike me as the type who likes men, either." Maggie hums, wiping down her own chairs. "And what if I told you you were wrong?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> for day 5 of darus week
> 
> which i'm late to again uhhhmmm,,,,,
> 
> tumblr: that-flawless-boi

Every day at 3 o'clock, a gruff man enters 'The Salvation', covered in sweat, grease, and motor oil. Orders the same thing each time, too- Caffè Americano with a bear claw pastry. Paul figures that's his break time, and he uses it in utter silence. Occasionally, though, Maggie and her pregnant belly will waddle over and have a short conversation with him. He offers her grunts and sometimes a nod, but that doesn't stop her cheery chatter about the upcoming baby. Glenn talks to him, too, and it's much the same. He's just a quiet guy, Paul concludes. He really isn't being rude. He's a listener. And he guesses that the man knows both Glenn and Maggie, given that he doesn't glare at them or growl out an irritated, ' _what do you want_?'

Paul's seen a few of those encounters, which is why he never confronts the guy. And it's upsetting, because he's just his type. Strong, broody, quiet, and he could go on for _days_ about those arms. Those eyes. Those-

" _Paul_ ," Maggie groans, a hand on one hip. She's across the room, eyes serious, one brow raised in exasperation. "Did you even hear what I just said?" She waves the wet rag she uses to wipe down tables at him. 

"Uh," he flushes, clearing his throat. "No, sorry. What?"

"Help me wipe down these tables."

"Right, sorry." Grabbing his own rag from the kitchen in the back, he wets it down and scurries back into the dining area where Maggie waits for him. 

"Took you long enough," she huffs, cheeks pink with exertion. He moves to the table next to her's, swiping the rag over it in long strokes. "Where has your mind been today?"

Said mind immediately conjures up an image of Mr. Gruff, and he sighs, wiping the  table harder than necessary. "I'm just a little out of it, I guess."

She looks unconvinced, a small smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I'm sure you are." 

He catches on to her immediately. "What?"

She looks behind him, blue eyes searching, before she looks back, whispering, "sure it has nothing to do with the guy you've been lookin' at since workin' here?"

His hand stops wiping and his mouth opens and closes. "No," his voice wavers, and she laughs at him. 

"Why don't you talk to him?" 

"Because he'd probably tell me to screw off." Paul begins to wipe down the table's dark, metallic chairs. "Doesn't strike me as the type who likes men, either." 

Maggie hums, wiping down her own chairs. "And what if I told you you were wrong?"

He stops wiping, again. "You're lying."

"What if I'm _not_?"

They stare each other down. Paul almost expects old-western, showdown music to start playing. 

"What, did he _tell_ you that he's into dudes?" 

"Maybe, and maybe he told me his type." She's staring down at the rag she's using, a cheeky smile etched into her face. He just stares at her, searching her expression for any hints of a lie. "And maybe _you_ fit the profile."

Nope, he can't hear this. "Shut _up_."

"I'm serious. Talk to him." Maggie begins to hobble away, but then stops to whisper in his ear. "By the way, he's been starin' at you since this whole conversation started." She departs with a wink. "And deliver Daryl his usual order, please." Paul watches her retreating back with wide eyes, which then flicker to Daryl, who's looking down at his hands like they're the most interesting things that have ever existed. _So_ , _that's his name_. Paul has to stop himself from rolling it off of his tongue. "I just don't wanna walk around any more than I have to," she continues from behind the counter, wiping that down. Daryl scoffs. "Don't you " _pfft_ " me. When you're carryin' an extra ten pounds around 24/7, only then can you make fun."

Paul scurries to the counter and picks up Daryl's order, bringing it to him without even looking at it. He sets it down with a quiet, "enjoy."

"Uh," the greased-up man calls as the barista turns to go. He turns back and is met with pinched brows and shy eyes. "Thanks," he mumbles. "Can I have a napkin, please? An' a, uh," he trails off. "An' a pen?" 

Paul immediately answers, "yeah, sure," and retrieves said objects at the counter. God, he's whipped already. Maggie's giving him a look as she rings up a customer's order, and he shakes his head at her, mouthing, " _quit it_." She just shrugs.

He returns with Daryl's requests and hands them over. Their fingers briefly touch, and a small spark _zings_ up his arm, and _what is this_ , _middle_ - _school_? 

"Thanks," he mumbles, picking up the pen and writing something down on the small, navy-blue napkin. 

Paul doesn't catch what he writes, given that he guards it with his forearm. Like he's taking a test that he doesn't want anyone to peek at. He walks away with a, "no problem." Doesn't see the older man watch his retreating back. 

******

Daryl leaves about five minutes later. He wolfs down his bearclaw in the span of three minutes and then finishes his coffee in two. Then, per usual, he walks out with a small wave at Maggie and Glenn. Never with a smile. He thinks that Daryl looked at him before leaving, too, and- and wow, Paul needs to get a life. A life that doesn't involve watching this poor guy. He walks over and cleans the table when the mechanic is gone. There isn't even much to clean- the man always eats every last crumb and drinks every last drop. Just as he's about to pick up the napkin, he notices that it's not used, and the pen is sitting over a random scribble of numbers and words. He picks it up and reads, 

" **Call me. If you want.**

 **(555)- 400-1234** "

He smiles wide, folding it and tucking it into his apron. Looks out the bakery's front window. He'll definitely give a call.  


End file.
